COVID19 and Australia: On Collective Consciousness and Fighting an Invisible Monster
This piece was originally published on Medium, on March 21, 2020.
I looked at a picture taken from just over a couple of weeks ago, out with friends in a Sydney bar. We are all smiling, arms around each other, smushed in as close together as possible to fit into the frame. An easy move operating on instinct, “oh, come in closer everyone. There we go.”
It’s a beautiful photo, and I can hear that night’s laughter when I look at it. We had heard about the virus by then. In January, it was a headline. By February, it was definitely a global event. And now, by early March, it was starting to become an uneasy topic. But it was also something, it seemed, only our future selves needed to address properly. Maybe it felt too distant to be real enough. We had seen things happening, of course. We were all very interested in global politics and news. We had watched the events unravelling in China, and Korea, and Europe, and touching different parts of the world. I’m fairly sure we were all washing our hands more. But it felt almost like one of those things you see on TV, knowing it will touch your shores but also, perhaps in the back of your mind, hoping it won’t be that bad. That it will be, as many were still saying at the time, “just like a normal flu”.
There’s also something about Australia that always feels a little disconnected to the rest of the world. We’re so far away. An island. Threats seem so distant. Even though the data, read properly, indicated that this would get really serious, things really didn’t seem that way.
Since January, my brother had been sending our family messenger chat links to data and articles, urging us to buy masks, buy a few weeks of food supplies and essentials, stop taking public transport where we can and work from home wherever possible. And since January, we had recognised that my brother’s logic made sense — all of us consider him about the smartest person we know — but when you compared that to society at the time, where people were going about their days normally, business as usual, it made it hard to reconcile.
If there is an incoming crisis, why is no one doing anything? Why aren’t our communities taking measures, or talking about it coming here, or being scared? Could it really be that bad if everyone is so calm?
(I think my brother should be the prime minister. He’d never do it though. Too much politics.)
So on this clear, early March evening with my friends, our night went on.
It was filled with stories of the past, old friends sharing memories and moments some of us had forgotten. Stories about world trips, and business, and accents, and how gluten-free meals are hard to find for a newly diagnosed coeliac. Once or twice, someone brought up coronavirus. At that stage, our state of New South Wales had about 25 cases, with a national total of 57. “Oh, that’s terrible,” we’d all tutted in unison. “That’s going to get bad.” A Sydney woman in an aged care home had died. Someone mentioned that their partner was still at work that night, working on the preparatory policies for a potential big outbreak here. Someone else had a conference cancelled at the last minute as a precautionary measure. It was scary, and concerning.
But then it was back to discussing the nature of a fulfilling career, and should an artist suffer for their art or willingly go commercial? And why does everyone always think our one particular friend is Korean? Hugs and smiles and gentle touches on the arm accompanied our conversations, in that non-verbal dance we all do that we never thought that much about before.
The philosophical musings of the blissfully unaware. Unaware that an exponential increase means numbers get high, very very fast. Or perhaps aware of numbers, but struggling to align a spreadsheet to real people, and real impacts. Unaware that Italy, with 3,850 reported cases that day would soon rise to 7,375 just three days later. A week after that, it would be over 24,000 cases. In between, the World Health Org would have declared a pandemic. Italians would be in complete lockdown in their homes, singing to each other on their balconies in a beautifully poignant display of solidarity and hope. Around the same time, the US would declare a national emergency. A couple of days after that, you’d see France lock down completely. In all of this, Korea had spent most of February battling a massive spike that hit mid-month, attributed in part to super-spreader “Patient 31”. Thailand, the Philippines, Japan, Singapore, Iran’s massive outbreak, and others to a total of 182 countries and territories would have been affected by the time of writing, on March 20. Over 10,000 deaths, and it seems we are nowhere near the end.
I don’t know what it is that made it all feel so far away, right up until it was ready to burst into our living room. I am now in the camp that is pleading with the government to lock down schools, shut down workplaces, and get everyone at home because our cases are spiking as other nation’s crystal balls have told us they would. I am now in the camp of people who fear that our relaxed culture will be our downfall, that politics and economics will come in the way of safety and decision-making, that “we’ll be right” until we won’t, and then we will be very far from right.
I am not a scientist, and I am not a journalist. I don’t have any credibility at all, really. But I want to write this, to speak with you and think with you and maybe also to clear my own head.
There is something, I suspect, about Western democratic capitalist countries, that does not facilitate as much efficiency and protection during a pandemic. I am aware that some of the countries who have responded well have experience from previous viral outbreaks. It meant they were more prepared, and communities perhaps more willing to take measures from the outset. But I also think that we are a people who generally have things pretty good. The lucky country, full of opportunity, easy-going and relaxed.
I suspect there is an element of exceptionalism that still hovers in our collective consciousness to an extent. Perhaps it is to help protect our minds from the terrifying thoughts of what consequences may come.
This idea that mass illness won’t happen to us. Or simply that ‘everything will be okay’. And eventually, it will be okay. But there is a giant demon we will face in the meantime. Do we suffer now, from our individualist culture not unlike America’s, that pushes an underlying theme of personal ambition? Are we disadvantaged because of a lack of collectivism?
Our government has been giving us regular updates with new restrictions imposed to try and slow the spread of the virus. They have ranged from limiting outdoor gatherings and indoor gatherings, to border restrictions, internal travel restrictions, self-isolation for those entering the country, and, most recently, a requirement of 4 square metres per person in indoor gatherings. Social distancing has become a widely used phrase, there to help us keep away from one another, and minimise the chance of spreading illness. Only just over a week ago, I started dodging handshakes from colleagues. At first it was hard, but after the government told us handshakes were no longer a go, it became less awkward.
However, on the same day that the prime minister placed the strictest rules yet about social distancing, we also saw a herd of people visit Bondi Beach. It was a nice day, sure. But the beach was at the level of packed where pictures only showed little clusters of sand, poking out between all the dots of beachgoers. Hundreds and hundreds of people, together, in relatively close range. This got out into the twitter/reddit/media-verse. Many were, understandably, outraged.
Is it a case that the government’s attempt not to panic people has left us too far the other way? If we did not have gentle, soft advice, but rather hard line rules that were actually enforced, we could guarantee that the virus, at least for a time, would spread more slowly.
Instead, some Aussies seem to be operating on the side of “well, I’m allowed to go to bars, so I will.” “It’s not against the rules, no one can stop me going to the beach,” etc. Certainly, masses of people at Bondi Beach could hardly be called an organised gathering. But this goes against the spirit of the thing. I think the government is trying to give us advice that moves with the intention of ‘stay the hell away from people as much as you can’. Instead, some people are looking for loopholes, like kids trying to get out of rules on a technicality. The government is trying to instil a sense of personal responsibility for our community, but doing so at such a glacial pace that it doesn’t come across very seriously, and it certainly doesn’t seem to be working. The idea of doing as much as you’re allowed to until you’re not throws this air of immaturity and obnoxiousness into the mix.
And in response to the economic argument here, that we should be going out to bars etc. to help the economy — My view is based on three thoughts:
1. Recession is imminent. It’s docked like that cruise all those people strolled off in Sydney a couple of days ago. If we lock everything down now, we will recover from this pandemic sooner overall, which means the economy can start to recover potentially much earlier than if we don’t.
2. Giving small businesses another week or two’s revenue is not going to cut it regardless. People are going to run out of money, people are going to lose jobs, and people are going to suffer. This is horrifying, but a week or two’s difference will not change that. We will need additional measures regardless. We will need economic innovation regardless.
3. The economy, eventually, will always recover. Sick people may not.
If the government demonstrated to us that this is a deadly virus that will kill people, it will spread and it will, in all likelihood at this rate, be an overbearing weight on our hospital systems, people would perhaps take it more seriously. This should be framed as the biggest war our little nation has ever faced in its short lifetime. Instead, we are keeping schools open, leaving our teachers as sacrificial lambs to our arrogance. Instead, we are sitting about hoping our nurses and doctors will have it covered when it blows up. Instead, we have a prime minister who only a short time ago retorted that he’d be going to the footy game… because it might be the last one he gets to go to!
If that last one isn’t a flamboyant display of individualism at its finest, I don’t know what is. Forget, ‘I’m not going to the football because I am going to do my bit for the safety of Australians,’ forget ‘We will not have anyone at the football because Australians need to do their bit for Australians’, the off-the-cuff statement was about our prime minister’s interests alone. All throughout this, we have not mobilised the need to save our community as a nation. Even when we have taken measures to try and protect the more vulnerable parts of our community, like elderly people, we have not properly mobilised our nation.
This virus does not discriminate. By all accounts so far, just because you are in a lower risk category does not mean you are safe from it. People are still dying. People are still becoming incredibly ill. We seem to have overblown the concept that ‘young people will be fine’, because even though many of them will, some won’t. So, even if you are going forward with an individualist, “I’ll be okay” attitude, you should stay home. And yes, our elderly people and our immuno-compromised people and those with underlying conditions and illnesses — they are at incredible risk. If you must take the individualist approach on that one, it wouldn’t take too long on any family tree or friendship circle to find someone you know and love to fight for.
The really scary thing about it all is that we are behind other nations. We can see the disasters unfolding. We can see our future. Other countries are pleading with us to heed their warning. Doctors and nurses and citizens around the world are begging us. And we are acting as though we are immune to the threat. Our general complacence as a nation — It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen.
How do we reconcile this situation with the incredible kindness, spirit and dedication to community that we saw only months ago with Australia’s tragic bushfires? With that threat, we banded together, we helped each other, we behaved in a way that I’m sure made us all feel a sense of pride. We were in it together, even if we weren’t physically at the battlefront. It felt Australian. What is the difference now? Where is that pride now?
I think it is, in part, the uncertainty. Bushfires are red, and smoky, and we see them tearing through the land. We see the poor koalas on the news and we open our windows and smell the smoke, even from so many kilometres away. We know our people at most risk — our farmers, our communities suffering at the hands of the natural beast. And we have battled bushfires before. We know, to an extent, what to expect. We have plans.
From all accounts, it seems we won’t collectively see COVID19 until it is dismantling our hospitals, spreading illness and death arbitrarily, taking up all our ICU beds and ventilators and leaving our doctors and nurses in the greatest battle they’ve ever seen. Right now, the virus is largely a secret one, infecting people but waiting days to surface. We know, theoretically, that it is in our community. We know that cases are rising and certainly we would have some people in the community who are seeing it all first hand. But we don’t open our windows and see and smell COVID19. For most of us, if it’s anything like other countries, the Grim Reaper of death and destruction will appear seemingly out of the blue, even though he’s warned us he’s coming weeks ahead of time.
And because our government messages appear to change so rapidly, they are so uncertain, relaxed or wishy-washy, and because each day feels like a year, we are not a united front. I can clearly distinguish between some friends of mine who are, like me, self-isolating as much as possible; and then, those whose days are largely business as usual. Those who are still catching up for dinner with friends, and may be paying attention to the government rules, washing their hands and social distancing a bit, but still largely operating as normal. “Popping out to the shops” or “popping out for a coffee”, when there should be no unnecessary “popping” at all.
I do not envy the government, who is grappling with a million parts of a jigsaw to try and do the right thing. And I know that everyone is doing what they think is right. If those people at Bondi truly thought they were putting people’s lives at risk by going, they surely wouldn’t have gone. We all make the best possible decisions we can with the information we have. I have to remind myself of this every day, and I suppose a small part of me looks at those who aren’t worried and hopes that somehow they are entirely correct. That somehow, we will be an exception to the rule, and our story will defy existing data, or we will find a cure or a vaccine before things blow out even more.
But I don’t think so.
I think we must, as a nation, start to instil in our collective conscience a true sense of caution for what lays ahead, and responsibility for our whole community. It is hard to make personal sacrifices for any threat to the greater good — climate change has shown us this for years now.
But perhaps we can get our shit together today, and start fighting. Fighting for our healthcare workers, who will be our soldiers in the trenches in days to come. Fighting for our elderly and vulnerable, our teachers, our shelf-stackers, our friends and family, and our country. You don’t need guns or military training for this one. You need a couch and some self-control. Staying home whenever you can. Turning your coffee dates into Facetime dates. Having meetings on Zoom. Doing what you can to stay home and away from people, whenever you can. I know many Aussies are doing this already. I am so grateful to them. I hope the rest of us will join in too. Hopefully, the government will make it easier to do in days to come. And I have never felt more grateful for our healthcare staff, teachers and grocers.
At the same time, my heart is also warmed by the community initiatives that are starting to pop up — helping the elderly, working together to ensure people have supplies, connecting with people to try and fend off the probable wave of loneliness ahead. As much as my words are filled with negativity at the moment, there are silver linings and slivers of optimism there too. I think a lockdown also presents a great opportunity for introspection, but that is another post for another time.
I know there are many Australians who are also urging the government to do more. I hope that they will, and fear that they won’t. Each day I hope for lockdown. I also hope for a “Surprise! We’re going to test thousands and thousands more people now! Testing is our number one priority!” So far, these announcements have not come. James Clear tweeted recently about the “overreaction paradox” — that if we do everything we should be doing to prevent disaster, there will be no disaster so we will look like we’ve overreacted. But if the government waits until it is a true disaster, it will be far, far too late. No one has all the answers right now, because there is no guidebook for this situation, but if we do what we can with what we have, we have the best chance of waning the spread. The actions of each individual now are shaping our future.
I wish I had taken this more seriously sooner. One day, we will go back to nights out with friends and friendly touches on the arm. But there is a giant fight to have first.
This fight should have begun weeks ago, but in lieu of that we must begin today. The only thing we do not have right now is time. The way we respond to this will define us. Stay strong, and whenever you possibly can, please, stay home.
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If you have read this far, thank you. My head still feels full of thoughts, but I had to stop somewhere.
I wish you love and health in these unprecedented, uncertain times.